He Onward Came
by Replacement for the Stars
Summary: ...I have a cat named after a sweater.//Snarry. Cat!Snape
1. Chapter One, Tricks

_**He Onward Came  
**_**By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**

Chapter One:  
Tricks

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
_Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771

(O.o)

Draco Malfoy, soon to be third year Slytherin at Hogwarts, followed silently behind his father as they walked through the vast halls of Malfoy Manor, counting the times that his father's cane hit the cold stone floor between the lush carpet runners. So far, he had counted twenty-six times, as the runners were quite lengthy. His father's closest acquaintance—for Malfoy's did not have friends—was the man they were on their way to visit, and Lucius was clearly taking his time, as he was entirely not fond of Spinner's End. Draco often heard his father talk—for Malfoy's did _not_ rant; how _common_—of the dreariness and filthiness of Spinner's End and how Muggle Snape's summer home was, and Draco believed him, although he personally had never set foot inside the Professor's home. Lucius, however, would never say such things in front of Snape; to do such a thing would be utterly rude and Malfoy's always upheld a high level of decorum.

The Portkey in his father's cane—the Slytherin-emerald left eye—was set to leave for the sitting room of Spinner's End at exactly one in the afternoon of July the thirtieth. Draco knew this because his father had informed him at least twice; Lucius Malfoy made utterly sure that no member of any plan of his went uninformed, unless it happened to serve his needs for someone to remain uninformed, which happened spectacularly often. Lucius turned a corner and they stepped out into the vast entrance hall, Draco casting a glance up at the massive crystal chandelier that his mother had once informed him had been in the Malfoy family ever since the famous Brutus Malfoy.

Lucius whirled around, his Egyptian silk black robes snapping dramatically about his heels, and clasped one of Draco's thin shoulders. "I will hear no words from your mouth about the state of Severus's house," Lucius warned, and Draco nodded immediately in acquiesce. Spinner's End had to be, then, at least five times as worse than he thought. "Severus is…not like us." The snake head of his cane gestured to the grandeur of Malfoy Manor, and Draco nodded again, understanding what his father meant. He knew that Snape was not wealthy; however, Lucius had learned of how precious Prince loyalty was—Snape had Prince blood; if Draco remembered correctly, Snape was a half-blood, which, frankly, demeaned the Malfoy name, to be known as an acquaintance of a _half-blood_; however, his father's word was law and Draco would never defer—and passed his knowledge onto his son. Snape was trusted implicitly by the Malfoy family and his disgusting pedigree was handed off as misfortune. "However, he is…" Lucius frowned slightly, and Draco watched his father's face for signs of what he would say next. "Family." Lucius nodded, showing Draco that nothing more would be said on the matter, and gracefully held out the head of his cane.

Two aristocratically elegant fingers touched the jewel and after a few moments of waiting, Draco held in his gasp as his navel was hooked and they spun away.

Both Lucius and Draco landed smoothly on their feet, both having been taught from an early age that Malfoy's must remain elegant and graceful in any situation, and Draco lifted his head as his father snapped back his cane, and cautiously looked around the cell-like sitting room of Spinner's End. It fit what he knew of Snape: books lining the walls, no windows, only a plain fireplace and a simple armchair off to the side with a tiny table, an empty decanter sitting exactly in the middle, filling the room. The lack of splendor and opulence nearly made Draco uncomfortable, but he obediently followed his father when the man stepped over to the only exit—other than the front door—out of the room and looked around the utterly tiny Muggle kitchen. He had never seen such appliances! A sink that needed _plumbing_—he had read about it in a Muggle Studies book—and a…refrigerator? If Draco remembered correctly, they were like cooling cabinets. Draco looked closer at it and hesitantly reached out one hand to touch the cracked white exterior. It was cool, surprisingly; cooling cabinets were only cold on the inside.

Draco lifted his nose and turned back to see his father's handsome face flash with a disgruntled glance of what would be alarm on any other person. Snape had informed his father at least twice over Floo that he would be ready for them at one, and Draco knew that his father trusted Snape to keep his word. Lucius stepped back into the sitting room, with Draco nearly on his heels, and perused the bookshelves. Although he felt stupid for thinking it, Draco wondered if Snape was hiding in a book.

Lucius reached out one long, pale finger and pulled on the upper pages of a book on Light potions. He stepped back, immediately straightening himself, and Draco nearly gaped as the bookshelf creaked and then slid forward and aside. He had always thought that the passage behind the bookcase was a Muggle myth; perhaps, he thought, as his father ordered him to stay in the sitting room as he ascended the stairs, that's why Snape had put it in, so no one would expect it. Draco shrugged to himself and turned to look at the softly roaring fireplace, moving sightlessly over to the single chair. Before he sat in it, however, he looked down, and gaped at a small black kitten sleeping soundly on the seat of the chair. As the chair was black, it was easy to see how he had missed it on the first step into the room; however, Lucius was extremely observant and surely would have noticed such an animal, not matter how out of place it seemed to be.

Remembering Bultstrode's lessons on how to pick up a cat, Draco carefully cupped the thin ribs and the cat's bum, holding it to his chest; the kitten was heavier than it looked. Surprisingly, the silky smooth black hair was greasy; Draco settled himself in the armchair as the cat yawned and curled deeper into his chest, the Malfoy Heir smiling slightly. "Looks like Snape has had you in his potions lab, no?" he murmured, glancing up the stairs to see if his father had returned. He had not; Draco peered down at the slumbering cat and gently rubbed it behind the ears, holding in his grin at the soft purr that erupted.

Dark copper eyes slowly opened and the kitten yawned again, stretching against Draco's hands and butting his chest with its small black nose. An owl tapped on the single window in the kitchen and, clutching the kitten to his chest, Draco walked quickly to the window and let in the bright white bird, who stared at him with knowing orange eyes.

Getting an idea—he would most likely pay dearly for it with detention with Snape for sending his cat off with an unknown owl—Draco pulled out his wand, mentally thanking his father for bribing the Ministry to allow him to perform magic outside of school, and flicked his wand, creating a container large enough for the kitten but small enough for the owl to lift. He quickly put the kitten inside of the carrier and held out the straps for the owl to take.

When his father returned downstairs, Draco had already shut the window and was back in the sitting room, hiding his grin behind the standard Malfoy mask.

(O.o)

Harry fed Hedwig another owl treat and bustled her to her cage as she brought him his last present, this one sounding dangerously like an extremely furious cat. He was shaking in excitement; he already had letters from Hagrid, Ron and Hermione! And someone had sent him a _cat_! Harry grinned as he approached the small carrier that Hedwig had left on his tiny bed; he figured it was Hermione, as a joke about the Polyjuice incident with Bulstrode's cat. He'd have to give her a huge hug the next time he saw her.

Harry swallowed to himself as his small hands encased the carrier, feeling around it for the opening. The moment his hand touched one of the sides, it fell open, and a black blur shot itself right at Harry's gut, snarling at his too-large and holey clothes and ripping through them. Harry lifted the kitten by the scruff of its neck and cautiously examined it. "You're cute," Harry informed it, and it hissed at him, dark copper eyes slit angrily and small ears flat back against its skull. Harry examined the underside as quickly as he could, dodging the sharp claws; Harry sighed to himself as he set the tiny kitten on the bed and it shot off to pounce on his pillow. He had himself his very own male kitten. Harry grinned and turned back to the carrier to see if it held any information, but it had vanished. Hermione had probably bought it before summer or had somehow found the spell for it and created it at Hogwarts; it didn't matter, really, so Harry put it out of his mind.

Harry crawled across his bed and grabbed up the small kitten as it attacked his pillow yet again, ignoring how the stained cover was now mostly shredded. "Did 'Mione give you to me?" he asked softly, and dark copper eyes peered up at his bruised face—Uncle Vernon had a temper, after all—and one small paw moved up to rest on his chest. Harry touched it and pulled it slightly away, examining the small black pads with a clinical gaze. "I suppose she did," he murmured, and dropped the paw, moving around to sit on the floor, against the wall. Slowly, the kitten began to talk softly, and as Harry began to nod off, he smiled.

(O.o)

The kitten was asleep when Harry woke up. He smiled sleepily down at it and moved over to drop on his back onto his bed, cradling the small black body against his concave stomach. He smiled down at the kitten as the dark copper eyes slowly blinked open, and felt it yawn against his hand and then arch its spine in a stretch. "I suppose you need a name," Harry mumbled and rolled over on his side just in time to see Petunia's skinny hand push a cold can of soup through the cat flap.

"Eat, boy!" Petunia screeched, and Harry listened as she clicked down the stairs…oh, that was right, Aunt Marge was visiting soon and Petunia had said something about needing to get used to heels. Harry rolled his eyes and set the kitten to the side, rolling off the bed and dropping to his hands and knees, crawling quickly over to the soup.

He grinned over at the kitten peering at him over the side of the bed, the dark copper eyes wide and curious. "Meat soup, kitten. Soup, meet kitten." He grinned at his wit and crawled back over the bed, digging out a chunk of beef and dropping it on the edge of the bed, watching as the kitten attacked it. "Err…I don't know what kind of food kittens eat, so we'll just go with meat." Harry nodded and pushed to his feet, digging out another chunk of meat, as well as a chunk of carrot, and dropping them in Hedwig's cat. "Sorry, girl," he murmured, and turned back to his bed, grinning as the kitten gnawed on the chunk of meat. Harry sat on the floor at the end of his bed, crossing his legs and resting his chin on the thin blanket, absently feeding himself the last chunk of meat. He licked the soup off his fingers and grinned at the kitten when it finished the hunk of meat and stared inquisitively at him.

Harry sighed and leaned back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. The kitten jumped off the bed and curled up on Harry's stomach, quietly beginning to talk again in a soft, distinctive tone. Harry listened quietly, wondering what the kitten was trying to tell him. He abandoned the half-finished can of soup and gently rested both of his hands on the kitten's small, warm body, and then grinned at the abandoned Argyll sweater right next to his head. "How about Argyll?" he questioned, and glanced down at the suddenly quiet kitten. There was a long, slow blink of the dark copper eyes and Harry took that for a yes.

"Well, then," he announced, sitting up and pressing a swift kiss to the soft fur between Argyll's wide eyes, "Guess you've got a new name and I have a cat named after a sweater."

* * *

-Replacement for the Stars


	2. Chapter Two, Teases

**Disclaimer: I own naught.**

**Warnings:** Technical chan, cat!Snape, slash (someday). A general following of canon.  
**Pairings:** Snarry. LM/HP friendship, kind of.  
There are direct quotes in this chapter from PoA. I own none of them.  
There is also a deviation from canon in this chapter. Well, other than the…yeah.

_**He Onward Came  
**_**By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**

Chapter Two:  
Teases

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
_Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771

(O.o)

Argyll had insisted on following Harry downstairs, even though Harry had quite verbosely implored that it would be entirely unwise. However, as Argyll was a cat, and Harry's door had a _cat flap_, Argyll had been able to slip through it and meow impatiently at Harry's feet. At the bottom of the stairs, purposefully looking away from the locked cupboard, Harry picked Argyll up and dropped the kitten on his shoulder, grinning when the long body twisted around the back of his neck and the soft voice sounded in his ear as he walked the short distance into the kitchen.

So the Weasley's were in Egypt with Bill, whom Harry had never met, and Percy was Head Boy. Good for him, even though he was stuffy and kind of a git. Harry shrugged at that, automatically bringing up a hand to steady Argyll when the cat made a soft, concerned sound, and looked up to see Petunia washing dishes at the sink. He wanted to be in France with Hermione or Egypt with the Weasley's; anywhere was better than here. "Aunt Petunia?"

She swiveled her long face around, glaring at him. The blue eyes narrowed and she shrieked, "What is _that_ doing in my house!?" A long, bony finger pointed at Argyll's round face, and Harry twisted around, playfully staring at the wall.

"I suppose it's holding up the ceiling, Aunt Petunia," Harry mused, turning back to meet her blue eyes. Argyll made a quiet sound and Harry reached up a thin hand to rub behind the small ears, grinning internally at the soft moan that his kitten released, leaning fully into his hand.

Petunia screeched. She did that an awful lot, Harry thought to himself, expertly dodging the washcloth she whipped at him. Harry ran into the living room, slamming to a halt right before Vernon's massive girth. Beady brown eyes the color of mud glowered down at Harry, the full moustache twitching with rage. Argyll almost fell off Harry's shoulders but held himself on with tiny claws dug into Harry's thin skin. "My sister Marge is coming to visit for the week on Friday." Harry immediately did the math; that was in two days. Too soon. "I expect you to be _nice_, you little freak, otherwise you'll be stuck in the cupboard, as I don't think you'll be going back to that freak school of yours."

Harry had always wondered why they hated Hogwarts so much. He had heard no end of how much they hated him, but when the moment came for him to be gone ten months out of the year, Vernon took them all to a shack. On a rocky island. In the middle of a storm. He pulled the Hogsmeade permission form out of his pocket and waved it in Vernon's face. "I'll be nice to her if you sign this."

Vernon didn't even look at it when he grabbed it out of Harry's thin hands. "I'll sign it if you're nice, boy."

Harry began to glare but stopped when he realized it would be futile. As he escaped up to his room, Petunia on his heels to lock him in and batting at his ears with the washcloth—something that Argyll was _not_ pleased about—Harry figured that it was like dealing with Snape. If he ignored the man or agreed with what he said, it completely threw him off his tangent. Harry grinned to himself as he dropped back on his bed, Argyll cushioned against his stomach; so that's how he would deal with Snape's bitchiness this year, he would just ignore or agree with the man. It would be hilarious.

He could just imagine the scenario. Snape, yelling at him, telling him he was an arrogant, foolish Gryffindor and Harry nodding seriously, agreeing completely. _Why, yes, Professor, I would say that not only am I arrogant, I'm also a complete git. As well as being impertinent, as I know you think of me as such, I am even attention-seeking and you sincerely have no idea of how glad I was to find myself famous. In fact, Professor, I would genuinely admit that I am the personification of whatever your bloody big nose_—well, maybe not that—_the personification of exactly what you think I am._ He'd probably get detention for the entire year, but it would be worth it, just to see Snape shocked and grasping for words. Harry moved Argyll to the side as he pulled his Potions textbook out from under his pillow, rolling over onto his stomach and cracking it open. Had anyone that Snape insulted ever agreed with him? Harry hoped that he'd be the first one.

Harry even grinned as he read through his Potions text, not that anyone saw except for Argyll, and Argyll was a cat, so he'd never tell.

(O.o)

Draco stared in shock as his mother offered _Albus Dumbledore_ tea. They were investigating all leads as to where Snape had gone, as his father was fretting around the Manor, although if Draco was quite aware that if he ever did more than think such a word in correlation with a Malfoy, he would be punished. Malfoy's did not _fret_; they paced, and even then only in the privacy of their own chambers, and not when people such as Dumbledore were present.

Dumbledore smiled benignly, those sapphire eyes twinkling brightly behind his half-moon glasses as he squeezed two slices of lemon and three sugar cubes into his tea. Draco had to take a quick sip of his own black tea to restrain himself from gagging. His parents sent him care packages—really, it was his mother—once a week, and, yes, the majority of it was sugar; however, this was simply revolting. Dumbledore settled back in his overstuffed chair and smiled again at Lucius, one wrinkly hand smoothing down his silver beard. Lucius stopped next to Draco, resting one aristocratic hand on Draco's shoulder, and both Malfoy's looked down their nose at the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Neither Draco nor Lucius had wanted Draco to go to Hogwarts, but Narcissa had wanted him closer to home than Durmstrang in Scandinavia; however, Lucius had always been a pushover—not that Malfoy's ever allowed their opinions to be changed by someone as inconsequential as a wife—for Narcissa, and had relented. Draco pursed his lips and held out his empty teacup. A house elf appeared, took the teacup and vanished.

Lucius frowned slightly at the Headmaster. "You have not seen Severus?"

Dumbledore shook his head, taking another sip of his tea and popping a lemon drop in his mouth. "No, Lucius." Draco felt his father tense at the usage of his proper name without permission. Pureblood tradition dictated that titles were customary and proper—first—names were used only amongst friends and family. Dumbledore obviously knew this and simply bypassed the unwritten law; unacceptable. By Malfoy tradition, Lucius could now choose to have the wards kick Dumbledore out of Malfoy Manor out and seal him out of the property with a drop of his blood. "Severus leaves three days after the year ends to Spinner's End and I do not see him until one week before the start of term. Have you been to Spinner's End?"

Narcissa pursed her lips as Lucius sneered. "Yes, Dumbledore. Three times, in fact, to see no sight of Severus." The Malfoy-grey eyes narrowed dangerously and Draco glanced down to see his father's hand tighten around the snake-head of the cane, one of the thin fingers caressing the snake's fangs.

Dumbledore frowned slightly; however, the twinkle in his eyes did not dim. Draco found it disgusting. Did the man not know how dangerous it could be for Snape? The man was a Death Eater—pardoned or no, a Death Eater was a Death Eater until death—and there were pro-Muggles and Mudbloods running around everywhere, just waiting to take down those faithful to the Dark Lord. His own father had been the victim of many attacks; however, Snape had somehow escaped all of that by being trusted by Dumbledore and hiding out in the dungeons of Hogwarts. But since Snape hadn't been victim to any attacks, perhaps he would be unaware that someone could…no, impossible. Snape was paranoid and reclusive; he would not have simply been _taken_.

For the first time in a week, Draco wondered if taking that cat from Snape's tiny house and sending it off with that unfamiliar owl had been the right idea.

(O.o)

Harry clenched his jaw as he shifted his shoulders under Argyll's claws, hating Aunt Marge as she ate and gnawed on bones and sloshed her brandy on her shirt and gave her dog Ripper—Merlin, how Harry _hated_ that dog—scraps that he ate off a teacup saucer. He cleared the table, clearing off the tiny crumbs into the can and setting the plates in the sink filled with hot, soapy water. He blocked her out as he dipped his hands into the scalding water, absently leaning his cheek against Argyll when the kitten purred against his face, only turning back when Marge asked him, "…good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?"

Harry frowned for a second and then nodded quickly at her, flinching away from Ripper's loud growl. Argyll hissed and tensed against Harry's neck, snapping a paw at Ripper. Harry pet the kitten's head with a soapy hand as he quickly responded to Vernon's glare, "All the time."

Marge made a disapproving sound but looked like she believed him. The bruises on his face from a fresh smack from Vernon could give her reason to, anyway. Marge turned away from him and Harry went back to the sink, smiling slightly at Argyll when the kitten peered at him, an adorable soap bubble right on top of his small black nose. Harry wiped his soapy hand dry on the washcloth hanging from his belt and gently popped the bubble, Argyll squirming away from him. After a moment, Argyll glared at him and laid down, resting his cheek against Harry's neck, his tail curling around Harry's left bicep. Marge said something about having to drown that one out of a hundred pups that didn't make it, and Harry shoved both of his hands deep into the hot water to stop himself from strangling her. The decanter in Marge's hand cracked and then splintered, Marge snatching her hand back to have ice-sharp shards of glass rain down on her lap.

Everyone gaped and Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Vernon glaring at him. He'd have to be _really_ good from now on to have Vernon sign his Hogsmeade pass, now. Petunia jumped to her feet and snatched another decanter, filling it the entire way up with brandy and shoving it in Marge's fat hands before cleaning up the shards. Harry wondered if she wanted to throw them at him.

"Oh, Marge, I'm so sorry—" Petunia began, but Marge shook her head immediately, taking a sip of her new glass of brandy and smacking her lips in satisfaction.

"That's alright, Petunia. I often grip too tightly." Petunia nodded as she sat back down, and Harry watched Vernon's glare harden into a vicious snarl. He turned back to the sink and drowned his thoughts in the soap.

"…Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia, but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us," Marge informed them, twirling her decanter of brandy and licking right below her mustache with a fat red tongue. Marge shook her head and gulped the last of the brandy, smacking her lips loudly.

Harry whipped around, splattering them with hot, soapy water and Argyll digging claws into his shoulder to stay attached. "Listen here, _Aunt_ Marge!" Harry spat, advancing on her, "My father was a good man! He was no drunk! If there's a drunk in this house, it's you!"

That had probably been a bad decision, Harry thought as he watched Marge swell up in rage. She shoved to her feet and Ripper began running around in circles, yapping loudly. The cup in Marge's hand shattered and sprayed all of them with brandy. She opened her mouth to say something but kept on swelling; Harry felt his magic swell, as well, and ruminated in it, forcing her to expand. Vernon and Petunia jumped to their feet as Dudley fell back, smacking his fat head on the ground. Marge looked like a balloon, Harry thought with a wide grin, and he escaped upstairs, gathering his things and releasing Hedwig. He jumped down the stairs, shoving Vernon magically out of his way—hey, if he was going to be expelled for using magic outside of school, then why not use it on Vernon?—and darting to his cupboard. On his shoulder, Argyll snarled as Harry shoved his magic inside the cupboard's lock, and the heavy wooden door swung open.

He yanked his trunk open and shoved all of his things inside of it and pulling out his wand. He threw his Invisibility Cloak over his trunk and then turned around, pointing his wand at Vernon and Petunia. "Now," he informed them, voice low, "I'm leaving. Get out of my way."

As Harry shoved the front door open and gently caressed Argyll behind the ears, he heard Vernon bellow, "Good riddance, boy!"

Well, Harry figured, at least he had that good-bye.

(O.o)

A good twenty minutes later, Harry hit Magnolia Crescent and dropped down to sit on the curb, head in his hands. Argyll mewed softly and dropped down to curl up in Harry's lap, nuzzling at his stomach with a cold, damp nose. Sighing to himself, Harry dropped a kiss between Argyll's wide dark copper eyes and quietly inhaled the soft scent of sweet leaves. He sat up straight, shifting uncomfortably when he felt something looking at him.

"Hello?" Harry called softly, dropping a hand to calm Argyll when he began hissing, and almond-wide eyes dropped on two yellow eyes glaring at him from behind two trashcans. What the hell? Wait a second, hadn't that Sirius Black guy been seen near Surrey?

Harry leapt to his feet when the eyes came closer, pulling out his wand and pointing it menacingly at the…_dog_, although the effect was slightly ruined by the kitten climbing up to his shoulder, snarling and hissing at the dog. It was huge and shaggy, with hard yellow eyes and long yellowish teeth. Ah, Harry thought, I've escaped my relatives only to be killed by a dog.

Harry murmured _Lumos_ and his wand tip lit up, casting shadows down the street from where the light did not reach. The dog snarled loudly at him and Harry lifted an eyebrow, taking a step backwards up onto the curb and bringing his left hand up to rest on Argyll's back, drawing comfort from the movement. "Get, dog!" he barked, now taking a step forward and brandishing his wand threateningly, "Get! Mangy mutt!" Petunia had called Ripper that once when Marge hadn't been able to hear; it was a good insult, Harry figured, but he grinned when the dog snarled at him one last time and then retreated.

Harry turned back to look at his trunk, moving his wand slightly to see where the trunk cast a shadow. Even though the Invisibility Cloak made things invisible, they still had presence, and they left a faint shimmer of hue only visible when someone knew just what to look for. Ah, there. Harry latched onto his trunk and then turned back to look the way he had been heading. There wasn't really a set destination of where he was going; Harry didn't even know which way Diagon Alley was. He figured that was a decent destination, but it would probably take at least a few weeks to get there. Harry turned back around, feeling like he was on one of those merry-go-rounds that Dudley had always liked and he had never been allowed to ride on, and pushed his wand forward out over the street to make sure the dog wasn't there anymore.

It wasn't; Harry nodded and then threw himself back when something _boom_ed in front of him and there was a huge, triple-decker purple bus right in front of him. In bright gold letters on the front of the bus: _The Knight Bus_. Harry gasped loudly, sitting up, and heard Argyll's soft, concerned mewl. He grasped his wand, murmuring _Lumos_ again once it was in his hand again, and gently picked up the small black kitten, cradling Argyll in his arms. "Are you hurt?" he asked Argyll softly, and then whipped his head up when the doors of the Knight Bus sighed open.

A tall young man, no older than eighteen or nineteen, with wide, protruding eyes and more pimples than Harry had ever seen on another human being, leaned out of the door and grinned down at Harry. "Hello there!" he cried, peering closer at him, and Harry automatically flattened down his fringe. Argyll made a soft mewling sound and the wide eyes went even wider. "Name's Stan, Stan Shunpike, conductor o' the Knight Bus, kiddo! You got a name? Oi! And a cat, lookit that!"

Harry slowly pushed to his feet, muttering _Nox_ as he lifted Argyll to his shoulder, racking his brain for a name. He turned slightly and yanked the Invisibility Cloak off his trunk, opening it and shoving the Cloak inside. As he did so, Harry blurted out, "Neville Longbottom," and lifted his head to see Stan grinning wildly.

"Why, that's a grand name, Neville! Whereabouts you headed? Knight Bus can take you anywhere, just as long as it ain't over water or air!"

Harry didn't even want to know the types of requests Stan had gotten if he had to put the air disclaimer in and quickly nodded, not even caring for what just exactly was going on. Suddenly, all of the past hour's events caught up with him and he yawned widely, eyes brightening when Argyll copying his actions and Stan held out a hand for Harry's trunk. "Leaky Caldron," Harry finally said, deciding that he was too trusting when he handed Stan the handle of his trunk and slid onto the Knight Bus, pausing at the wide owlish eyes of the driver, who had bright, white hair.

Stan stopped with Harry's trunk as the door squeezed shut, Harry gaping at the brass beds and purple blankets as Stan rattled off prices. "13 Sickles for a mug of hot chocolate and 15 Sickles for a bottle o' water and a toothbrush in any color!" The protruding eyes narrowed suspiciously at Argyll, who had leapt off of Harry and was jumping from bed to bed.

Harry shook his head and moved closer to Argyll, dropping his thin body on the bed that Argyll looked to have chosen. "No thanks, Stan. Maybe next time," he replied, and then fell off the bed when the Bus leapt forward. He groaned under his breath and then threw Argyll a small glance when the black cat peered curiously at him over the side of the bed. "Great," he mumbled, and pulled himself back on the bed, sitting on the end of it and looking out the front window.

Lampposts and trashcans seemed to leap out of the way, and Argyll jumped up to clench himself to Harry's shoulder as he slowly stood up to go recline next to Stan, dodging out of the way when a random suitcase flew at him. Stan looked up at him from his seat next to the driver, and waved happily at Harry.

"Neville, this 'ere is Ernie Prang, the driver of the Knight Bus!"

Harry nodded weakly and collapsed on the nearest bed, pressing his hands to his stomach. Stan grinned at him and leaned forward, dropping his elbows to his knees. "Ya get used to it, Neville. Try to get to sleep; it makes it better." One thin hand reached out towards Argyll, who was sitting on Harry's knees. "What's the cat's name, Neville?"

Harry had to forcefully stop himself from snatching Argyll away from the sickly-looking hand. Instead, he gently scratched _his_ cat behind the ears, smiling gently at the gesture. "Argyll," he replied in a smiling voice, holding in his gasp when the Bus swerved, screeching, around a corner. The black cat barely moved, except to tilt his head up to peer curiously at Harry's thin face.

Stan frowned slightly, the action causing some of the pimples on his forehead to wrinkle. "Isn't…Argyll a type of sweater?"

Harry shrugged and laid back on the bed, Stan's hand retreating to his lap when the kitten stalked imperiously up Harry's pelvis and laid down on his chest, Harry's thin hands automatically cupping the small black body.

Stan grinned at the scene as the Knight Bus swerved around another corner and he fell off his chair.

(O.o)

Harry rolled off the bed to get away from the hand that was jabbing him in the side, and landed with a loud 'oof!'. Argyll, who had stayed on the bed, peered at him from over the side, a direct reminiscent from when Harry had fallen off the first bed. He sat up, ripping off his glasses and rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"Neville? We're at the Leaky Caldron, we right are," Stan's voice echoed, and Harry immediately flattened his fringe, thankful that the ruddy scar over his forehead had not been visible. He shoved his glasses back on his face and surged to his feet, grabbing Argyll and his trunk, throwing Stan a tremulous grin as he snatched his trunk and hopped off the Knight Bus. That bloody bed had given him nightmares of _Lucius Malfoy_, of all people. Nightmares always made him queasy and irritable.

Harry unconsciously clenched Argyll's small, furry body closer as he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, Tom's bright blue eyes landing immediately on his uncertain form. "Why, it's Harry Potter!" Tom crowed and hobbled over, his smile wide and gummy. The few patrons of the Cauldron all froze and gaped at him over their glasses. Tom was washing a glass as he bustled Harry through a formerly-unseen doorway, into what Harry presumed to be a private room. "Minister Fudge," Tom announced, "I have brought your guest."

Harry could do nothing other than gape, unintentionally dropping his wand and his trunk, one with a woody, quiet clatter and the other with a mildly startling _bang_.

Well, then.

Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge it was.

At least Argyll didn't seem to be too bothered, as he was asleep.

* * *

**Ch1 Review Responses:**  
Talia Gea: Thank you!  
-Replacement


	3. Chapter Three, Ties

There is a grand ole deviation from canon in this chapter. And Lucius is quite out of character, in my opinion. Blame it on the missing Snapey. In fact, blame everything on Snape! Don't like Obama? Snape! Gas prices? Snape! Car won't start? Snape! Undesirable weather? Snape! Boy/girlfriend broke up with you? Snape! It's all Snape's fault, and it's high time he realizes that! *cackles madly and then looks sheepishly at roommate*  
Also, please note that this story is going to be moving forward at a rate of about one chapter an hour, story time. That means that it is extremely slow moving. Extremely. Any review about the pace of the story will be seen as a flame and treated as thus. Thank you and have a nice day.  
Also, this story is kind of…weird. Lucius is no way in canon character.

_**He Onward Came  
**_**By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**

Chapter Three:  
Ties

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
_Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771

(O.o)

Harry threw off the blanket of shock and held out his hand for his wand, grinning to himself when it jumped straight up into his hand. He abandoned his trunk as Tom smiled widely to him and left; Harry slipped over into the corner and looked quickly between Malfoy and Fudge. The pale, pointed face that reminded him of the younger Malfoy was blank, other than the slight disdainful snarl of his upper lip and the weird glittering of his grey eyes.

Harry was quite sure he did not like that glittering.

Argyll woke up and clawed up Harry's too-large Muggle t-shirt to rest primly on his shoulder, the dark copper eyes staring ruthlessly at the other two occupants of the room. Seeing that, the nasty choking feeling of disorientation fled, and Harry took a large step forward, spinning his wand in his fingers before pointing it straight at Malfoy. Not that he could do anything, really, he reflected, but cocked his head to the side when the glittering in Malfoy's grey eyes simply intensified.

Fudge pushed to his feet, permeating the room with a bright, confident air that made Harry fairly wish to choke. "Now, now, Harry," he implored, "Lucius is of no harm."

"He's a Death Eater!" Not that Harry really knew what that meant, but it was worth the shot. All he knew was that a Death Eater was somebody loyal to Voldemort, and Voldemort was bad, so that meant Death Eaters were bad by default.

Fudge shook his head viciously, coming around the table to gently pluck Harry's wand out of his hand and kindly push him into a seat. Fudge retook his own seat next to Lucius, setting Harry's wand directly on the table in front of him, so that Harry could see he had all the power. Great. "No, Harry, he's not. He was under the Imperius." Like Harry knew what _that_ was. "I assure you, Lucius is quite loyal to the Light." Riiiight. Like someone with those eyes could be loyal to the Light.

Harry easily noticed that Fudge had not said Dumbledore.

Argyll suddenly erupted into a loud purr and slunk down into Harry's lap, butting the concave stomach until he was paid attention to. Harry purposefully looked down at the kitten and rubbed him with expert fingers behind the black ears. It was quite odd that even after a bath, Argyll's fur was still greasy—not too much to matter, but enough that Harry noticed it. He didn't mind it, really.

"What is the kitten's name, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up almost curiously, shoulders tensing at the penetrating grey gaze. Malfoy's voice had been completely devoid of emotion, although Harry was well aware that Malfoy—all of them—right hated his guts. For a moment, Harry wondered if they hated the rest of him, as well, or if it was just his guts that got the honor. Mentally smacking himself, Harry threw Malfoy a disconcerting grin and replied cockily, "Argyll."

Fudge smiled. "He is not a sweater, Harry. Now, for why you're here…"

Harry kept his gaze on Malfoy's pointed, aristocratic face as Fudge explained to him that _no_, he wasn't expelled from Hogwarts, as Fudge quite understood that all wizards, even the best of them, sometimes can't control their temper, which did make Harry's shoulders tense uneasily. "Now, Harry," Fudge continued, moving slightly as to catch Harry's gaze; it didn't work, "your Aunt Marge has been punctured by the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad, as well as her memory modified by Obliviators."

Harry nodded quickly. "And what will happen to me?" he queried, finally shifting his gaze from Malfoy's glittering grey gaze to Fudge's bright one. This was the man who had taken Hagrid to Azkaban even though he had no proof, other than four attacks on Muggleborn witches and wizards.

Fudge waved his hand innocently, as if batting the matter away, and replied smoothly, "Oh, no punishment for you, Harry, as the circumstances are quite changed, you know." Ah, he meant Black. The Minister for Magic looked faintly relieved and Harry truthfully wondered why. Fudge soon pushed to his feet, rolling Harry's wand back to him, and made quick goodbyes to Malfoy and Harry. Was Black really that dangerous, that Harry needed to be left with a Death Eater?

"Why are you here?" He could be blunt when needed. Harry figured he had picked it up from Ron as he leaned back in his chair and left his wand on the table. Wouldn't that show Malfoy he didn't mean any harm? Probably. Hell, he had forced Malfoy to free Dobby last year, so Malfoy probably meant _him_ harm, even if Dobby was most likely the most annoying house elf ever, especially for a Malfoy.

Harry mused on that as he blocked out Malfoy's crisp reply. He heard 'Minister' shot at him in a sneering, mocking tone, as well as 'watch the Boy Who Lived', but considered the rest irrelevant. It was Malfoy, after all, and he had sired the great git Draco Malfoy. Harry wondered if Malfoy Senior should win an award for siring such a right bastard; most likely, he figured, thin hands petting Argyll's small body. He would have to make one for Malfoy Senior as soon as possible.

Harry met the glittering gaze, blinking assuredly. "So you're here to keep an eye on me? Make sure the big, bad _Harry Potter_ doesn't go running off to join Black in his evil quest?"

A pale eyebrow lifted and the thin lips twisted into what Harry could call an almost amused smirk. "Quite, Mr. Potter. As a favor to the Minister," Malfoy drawled, and Harry noted the mild disgust shot with the word 'Minister'. He grabbed his wand immediately when Malfoy pushed elegantly to his feet, the pointed features flashing with vague bemusement. "Come, Potter. It is my duty to get you a room."

"I thought Slytherins didn't have a sense of duty," Harry mused to himself, loudly enough for the blond man to hear as he followed Malfoy out of the private room, shoving his wand in his back pocket to be able to grab onto his trunk. Malfoy pursed his lips but said nothing; the first Slytherin, in Harry's experience, to not respond to the House jibes. Even though he hated Malfoy, Harry thought with a jaunty grin, he could get to like this git.

(O.o)

The room Malfoy had gotten him was surprisingly nice, with comfortable beds, highly polished oak furniture and a brightly crackling fire in the grate. Malfoy had informed him—warned, really—that he would be directly across the hall if Harry was to need anything—not the terms he had used, but it was the general point—and to inform him if Harry was going anywhere. Not that Harry was planning on doing so, but he had seemed to agree with a nod.

He would have to get on making Malfoy Senior's award right away.

Harry grinned at Argyll and fell back on his bed, falling asleep immediately.

(O.o)

He woke up to seeing Lucius Malfoy coldly examining his kitten, holding him up by the scruff of his neck, the wide dark copper eyes locked unblinkingly on Malfoy's pale face.

Harry leapt at the man, knocking him down and sitting on his chest as he held Argyll to his collarbones, ducking his head around the mewling kitten and rubbing his cheek against Argyll's. After a moment, he lifted his head and glared furiously at Malfoy, who was openly gaping at him. "Don't touch Argyll! He's _mine_!"

Malfoy had him shoved off his chest, on his feet, and at wandpoint in less than three seconds. Harry was quite impressed, and told Malfoy so.

"Potter," Malfoy snapped, his grey eyes no longer glittering, "You must be the most foolish, impertinent and self-absorbed child I have _ever_ had the displeasure of meeting."

Harry glanced at the wand and then pushed to his feet, moving idly over to sit again right in front of the fire. Malfoy slowly lowered his wand, still obviously seething, and whirled around to stalk to the door. He threw it open, and just as he was about to step out into the hall, Malfoy turned back and asked quietly, "You have not seen Severus Snape this summer?"

Harry choked, which seemed to answer Malfoy's question quite well, as he slammed the door shut behind him and left Harry alone.

Harry leaned back, propped his old trainers up on the bottom edge of the mantle above the fireplace, and staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Why would Malfoy want to know if he had seen _Snape_, of all people? Even if he had seen the git, why would it matter? Harry grinned suddenly. Maybe Snape was missing, or even better yet, dead! Hogwarts without Snape would be perfect. Hogwarts without the belittling, without the cruel insults at his parents, without _Snape_…Harry sighed in longing. It was probably too good to be true, he figured. Snape probably just went on some stupid potions trip and forgot to tell Malfoy about it, so Malfoy was fretting about it. Harry grinned at the image of a _Malfoy_ fretting.

Harry tucked his feet behind his bum as he turned on his side, looking towards the door, and curled around Argyll's small body. If only…

Well, if only a lot of things, but Harry figured he'd be pleased with Snape not being around anymore.

* * *

A few quick answers to review questions:  
Hedwig was at Snape's house because she's Hedwig. Canon has it that Hedwig travelled to France just for a birthday present for Harry from Hermione; she's really quite intelligent, and by going on that, I am saying that Hedwig showed up at Spinner's End because she knew something. I'm not saying what she knew, because I don't know.  
The reason that Draco sent off Snape's cat--he honestly had no idea that the kitten could be anything but Snape's cat--was because he's twelve, impulsive, bored, and had the ability to do magic outside of Hogwarts.  
If you do sincerely desire to have kitten-Snape, you just go right ahead and steal him from Harry, but please be aware of repercussions. Such as: a very angry Lucius Malfoy, a very angry Harry Potter, and a really pissed off kitten. But go ahead, if you dare.  
There will be no POV chapter from kitten-Snape, for reasons that will be explained later. A lot later, like when Harry is fifteen.  
I would like to thank: Talia Gea, RavenclawSnake, and akuma-river for their lovely reviews.  
-Replacement for the Stars


	4. Chapter Four, Tails

_**He Onward Came  
**_**By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**

Chapter Four:  
Tails

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
_Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771

(O.o)

Harry looked up when someone sat down at the table next to him. He met Malfoy's hard grey eyes and blinked innocently. "Did you believe there were not wards placed upon you to inform me that you have left your quarters?"

"Oh, I don't even know what those are," Harry assured him, feeding Argyll another piece of bacon. "Wards? Never heard of them."

Malfoy looked about six steps away from slamming his head against the table. Harry figured that would be quite undignified and sincerely hoped Malfoy would not do such a thing, as he had insofar succeeded at not dragging attention to himself by sitting in a shadowy corner and keeping his fringe over his scar. "Merlin, Potter, Severus was right," Malfoy snapped and imperiously waved Tom over. "You are the most ridiculous Gryffindor child to ever set foot upon this cursed earth."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Oh, I quite agree, Mr. Malfoy. Not only am I ridiculous, I am also quite foolish. It's in my blood, you see." The idea to agree completely with everything Snape said also worked quite well on all Slytherins. Harry would have to test this theory out once he returned to Hogwarts, especially after giving Malfoy Senior his reward for siring such a great git.

(O.o)

Harry and Malfoy Senior sat in the dark corner of the Leaky Caldron, Argyll in Harry's lap and Harry spinning his wand through his fingers, Tom occasionally glancing at them over the bar; they had been sitting together for the past three hours after finishing their breakfast, neither of them saying anything. Argyll poked his head over the top of the table and meowed obnoxiously loud, making Malfoy raise an eyebrow and slowly turn his head to stare unyieldingly at the kit.

The man hadn't hurt Harry or Argyll so far—not that Harry trusted the git; he was a right, pompous bastard and Harry bet he knew it—but he lifted Argyll up out of his lap and held the black kit out towards the Lord Malfoy. Argyll made a soft, moan-like sound in the back of his throat and Harry dropped him in Malfoy's lap as he stood up. Harry grinned widely as Malfoy jumped to his feet, making a sound like a disgusted, mild bark beneath his breath, and brushed Argyll off and to the floor. "Potter!" Malfoy snapped, flicking out his wand and cleaning his clothes and robes of the tiny black hairs, and Harry froze as all of the eyes in the place turned to them. "You fool! Dropping a cat on me; that animal is certainly _diseased_ or infested with some vile critter! Merlin, Potter!"

Harry snatched Argyll up from the floor, where he was trying to bite the bottom hem of Malfoy's most certainly expensive black robes, and darted upstairs the moment before his name rose up like a man on a boat in the middle of the roaring sea; Harry moved over to his room and loudly closed the door behind him, clutching Argyll desperately to his chest. He had to go before Malfoy came up and probably smacked him or something, just like Uncle Vernon always did whenever he got mad at Harry. Harry grinned uneasily down at Argyll and when Malfoy opened the door to his room, Harry figured it was a bad idea to add onto Malfoy's rage at him by making him an award for siring a great git.

* * *

-Replacement


	5. Chapter Five, Truths

_**He Onward Came  
**_**By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**

Chapter Five:  
Truths

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
_Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771

(O.o)

Instead of smacking Harry violently and all the way across the room, Malfoy Senior stepped in and closed the door behind himself, wand pointed directly at Harry's face. He looked brightly uncomfortable and mildly amused, as if he had just heard a joke about purebloods that had struck him as funny but also irritating. "You ran off," Malfoy informed Harry, who nodded immediately in agreement—yes, he had run off, he was quite aware of it—and dropped himself to sit on the edge of his mussed bed. He had taken advantage of the fact that he didn't have to make his bed by not making it, just because he could. "Inform me of your reason."

Harry set Argyll to the side, looking deep into the dark copper eyes before answering slowly. "I don't like being me," was all he would say, and it was the truth. Being Harry Potter was fun—he had Ron and Hermione and the Gryffindors—but the celebrity part…it really bugged him, like Harry figured being put in a hole in the ground would bother Malfoy. Slowly, he met Malfoy's cold grey eyes, and he watched as they began to glitter again, in that queer way that really bothered Harry; he scrambled for his own wand but just held it down, at his side.

Malfoy snorted and leaned casually against the wall, sticking his wand into his cane and holding it loftily in one hand. Harry lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and rubbed the tip of his wand over Argyll's spine, letting out an unwilling smile when the kit started purring loudly. Harry could hear Malfoy step around the bed but he didn't move; he wasn't _scared_ of Malfoy, of a mean ole pureblood supremacist—Malfoy stepped around the bed and stared curiously down at Harry, his cold eyes glittering brightly. Harry rolled off the bed, sucking his stomach even further in so that he didn't squash Argyll, and then jumped to his feet, wand pointed directly at Malfoy.

A pale eyebrow lifted smoothly but Malfoy did not remove his wand from his cane. Argyll meowed plaintively and then leapt off the bed, curling up in front of the fireplace with his tail resting over his nose. After a moment, the small kitten sneezed violently and as Harry's green eyes brightened in suppressed laughter, Malfoy's thin lips pressed together in a tiny smirk for all of a moment. "What do you plan to do to me, Mr. Potter?" Malfoy drawled, and finally pulled out his own wand, ignoring the violent twitch of Harry's shoulders. It would have taken a moron to not deduce that Harry had been abused, but Malfoy ignored it, as it had nothing to do with him. "Float me?" Malfoy drew up a comfortable, wing-backed black leather armchair and settled himself into it, crossing his left leg over his right and clasping his hands across his knee, threading his wand through his fingers and leaning the rest of his cane against his right thigh. When there was no response except for a tightening of Harry's chin, Malfoy lifted his own and drawled, "Lower your wand, Potter. Explain yourself. What is so difficult about being the…_Chosen One_?"

Harry sighed loudly and dropped his wand onto the bed—Malfoy could barely restrain from rolling his eyes—and darted over to sit next to Argyll, pulling the kit into his lap and ignoring the dark copper glare lazily directed his way before the cat fell asleep again, lulled to sleep by Harry's hands and the heat of the fireplace. He looked to be fighting himself for a few long moments before looking back up at Malfoy and meeting the man's glittering grey eyes. "My name is Harry, first of all," he began, and Malfoy could barely suppress his smirk of success.

* * *

-Replacement


	6. Chapter Six, Treason

This will _not_ be a Dark!Harry fic.

_**He Onward Came  
**_**By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**

Chapter Six:  
Treason

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
_Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771

(O.o)

Before Harry continued, Lucius held up his right hand as he completed his cane with his left, wandlessly turning the elegant armchair so that he was facing Harry. Although it was agony for him to allow a filthy half-breed to call him by his first name, Lucius had been ordered by Fudge to keep Potter safe, and if it worked out, to gain the boy's trust and divert him from Dumbledore, and Lucius, although he had been disgusted to receive orders from Fudge, had gone along pleasantly enough with the plan. Harry was fascinating, to say the least; he was exactly how Severus had described him—foolish, arrogant, his father all over again—yet he was just a child the same age as Lucius's own son, a boy who needed support in his life, and if Lucius played his cards right, he could warp Harry and be the one the boy turned to. "Call me Lucius, Harry," he replied quietly, and watched curiously as Harry gaped at him, hands lax around his cat. What had possessed the boy to name such a creature—greasy and rather obnoxious as it was—after a sweater?

"Can I ask you something?" Harry asked quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth like smoke, and Lucius nodded slowly, the glitter in his eyes increasing dramatically. "Why did you drop the journal in Ginny's cauldron last year? You had to have known what it was…" Harry gulped audibly and clutched Argyll tighter in his arms, the cat resting his small chin on Harry's thin shoulder. He remembered the young Tom Riddle drawing his name in the air of the Chamber with the tip of his wand, explaining the anagram of _I am Lord Voldemort_, Ginny looking dead, the writing on the wall, the Basilisk and Fawkes pecking out its horrible eyes, the phoenix's tears on his wound from the fang, how he could feel death so close at hand, the deadly poison in his arm…

Lucius pressed his lips tightly together as he thought whether or not to lie. He had not known quite what the journal was; all he had known was that it had belonged to the Dark Lord and perhaps it could have gotten the precious Weasley girl expelled for having connections to the Dark. "You desire the truth, I presume," he evaded slowly, and pressed his feet flat to the floor, laying his cane across his thighs, long fingers caressing the snake-head and the Slytherin emerald eyes. Harry nodded immediately, those horrible green eyes locked on Lucius's face, and the Malfoy Lord met the green gaze. "I was aware that the journal belonged to the Dark Lord," he admitted, "I did not know it was possessed. I had been informed it was a key to open the Chamber of Secrets."

"Promise?" the boy rasped, as if such things still mattered, clutching his cat so close to his chest it looked like he was trying to absorb it in.

"I promise," Lucius replied, sneering at the maudlin situation in the back of his mind but keeping his gaze completely serious for the wide eyes hoping beyond hope for someone to trust. "However," he drawled, casting his glittering eyes down to Harry's, "you are still the arrogant, attention-seeking brat Severus has always claimed you to be."

There was a tiny pause in which Lucius wondered if he had taken it too far, and then Harry sighed dramatically and leaned eagerly forward, the smile on his face stretching his skin almost painfully as he nodded. "I know! Snape knows everything, doesn't he? Back at school, I'm going to make sure he knows how smart he is, y'know," Harry announced, and pressed a kiss between Argyll's closed eyes. Lucius raised an eyebrow but did not respond as Harry slowly began explaining why he did not like being the Chosen One.

"I don't like all of the publicity, and everyone knowing who I am," Harry admitted, not meeting Lucius's curious gaze as he stroked Argyll's slightly greasy fur. "I just want to be _normal_."

Lucius snorted derisively and tossed back his hair. "Normal? Normal is being a _Muggle_; is that what you want?"

Harry's gaze went immediately to the wand lying on his bed. "No," he replied slowly, as if just coming to a realization.

"Muggles are filth, Harry," Lucius told the boy, gently, talking over Harry's immediate protests. "There are too many of them and they are too close to finding us out. If magic is found by the Muggles, they will take us up as gods until something goes wrong that not even magic can fix—a natural disaster, one of their 'terrorist' attacks, anything that they can blame on us, and then we will be eradicated. The Mudbloods are invariably magically weak and only dilute our magical bloodlines. If your mother had been a pureblood, your magical strength would be at least twice what it is now. I am not asking you to turn against your Mudblood friend, Harry, I am simply asking you to see the truth. What did your Muggle relatives do to you?"

Harry had been glaring furiously at him throughout Lucius's entire speech, but when Lucius asked that final question, his eyes had dropped away from Lucius's face and he had stopped petting Argyll. "They were fine to me," Harry bit out, and Lucius snorted angrily.

"Do not lie to me, boy. By the bruise on your cheek, I would say that you suffered at least mild abuse, and I believe I can name the reason, as well: in their eyes, you are a freak. You are a _freak_ to them, even though you could destroy them with only a few words and a piece of wood."

Harry lifted his gaze and coldly met Lucius's eyes. "I would like to be alone now, _Lucius_. Leave, if you would," he requested angrily, and after looking at the boy for a long minute, Lucius nodded slowly and politely took his leave.

(O.o)

Harry stared into the happily burning fireplace as he cuddled Argyll close to his chest. It hurt, it really _hurt_ to hear what Lucius had said, mostly because it felt like it was true. His Uncle had often called him a freak and when he had been little, Harry had even wanted to not have the weird feeling—that he now knew was his magic—just to make Uncle Vernon proud of him. But wasn't Lucius wrong? The Muggles wouldn't destroy them, would they? But if that was true, then why were there people who thought differently?

As Harry tried to think, Argyll sat up in his hands and started talking, his soft voice sounding almost curious as he patted his front paws on the pad of Harry's palm, as if trying to pet him in return, and Harry tilted his head down to meet Argyll's simple gaze. The dark copper eyes narrowed slightly, his ears comfortably pointed up, and Harry watched as the tiny black mouth opened, but no sound came out. Argyll slumped happily against Harry, who felt weirdly honored, and he cupped his hands around Argyll's small body and held the kitten close.

Lucius couldn't be right, because there had to be some Muggles out there that were good. Harry _had_ to believe that, otherwise he felt like he'd go insane.

(O.o)

Lucius sat in his own room directly across the hall from the Boy Who Lived's room, sitting in an armchair patiently Transfigured from the low-class ones provided, and absently twirling a decanter of very expensive double-malt scotch as he gazed into the fire, thinking about the boy only a minimum amount of feet away. Harry Potter was exactly as Severus had described him, as Lucius had thought before, but the boy was more like a twisted, too-good version of the Dark Lord; from what Lucius knew of the Dark Lord's upbringing—which was almost nothing—he was aware that the Dark Lord had been brought up in an abusive orphanage and he had no parents, just like Potter. Harry, Lucius mildly corrected himself, and took a small sip of the scotch. It would not do to alienate the boy; Lucius wondered if he could gain the cat's trust, and by association, gain the boy's. He knew almost nothing about cats; the Malfoy family was not one to have _house pets_—Lucius knew that any Malfoy bringing any sort of creature in the manor would most certainly be ostracized and destroyed, and the mere thought brought up a swarm of disgust in the depth of his body. A cat in _Malfoy Manor_? Preposterous. Horrific. What if it scratched up the furniture or defecated on the carpet?

Lucius pursed his lips and, acting in a rather undignified manner that did not become the Lord Malfoy, gulped down the last of the scotch and cast the _Tempus_ charm. 11.26 am. Lucius pushed to his feet and stepped gracefully out of his room. It was unbefitting of a Malfoy to drink in the morning, but Lucius held his alcohol well and no one would be able to tell. He knocked with the back of the snake-head on his cane on Harry's door and lowly called through, "Harry, lunch!"

There was no answering sound or assent that the boy had even heard him, but Lucius made his way down to the Leaky Cauldron anyway.

* * *

-Replacement


	7. Chapter Seven, Tells

_**He Onward Came  
**_**By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**

Chapter Seven:  
Tells

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
_Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771

(O.o)

Lucius was already seated at the same table he and Harry had been sitting at since seven that same morning, and was mildly conversing with a huge black bald man with a newspaper on his lap. Harry jumped down the last few steps, Argyll letting out a tiny warble and digging his claws into Harry's shoulders as he twirled over to drop into the seat next to Lucius. He stole Lucius's newspaper—the _Daily Prophet_, it was August 7th, and oh, look at that, he was on the front page and so was Sirius Black…—and ignored the look from both men as he set Argyll on the table and touched his photo and then Black's.

"I thought he was just a Muggle," Harry remarked, and touched Black's photo again. The article said that he was a convict of Azkaban and had been imprisoned for murdering thirteen innocent people with a single curse in 1981, as well as being a follower of Voldemort, and he was the first person to ever break out of Azkaban; Harry touched the words _right after the murder of James and Lily Potter at the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ and felt mildly sick. To cover up his unease, Harry looked up at Lucius, who was still talking to the massive black man—wow, his head was shiny, Harry thought, and noticed Argyll's tail flicking—and waited until Lucius paused the conversation and met his gaze, the glitter in his grey eyes nearly blinding.

Harry didn't let Lucius say anything; "So you must have known him, right, if he was a follower of Voldemort?" That was probably stupid, he reflected, as Lucius's thin lips bared and the black man's deep eyes widened slightly. The black man took a seat and tried to grab Argyll, but the black, still slightly greasy kitten dodged his grasp and vaulted over to land on Harry's shoulder, wrapping around Harry's neck and chewing on his messy hair.

"I was under the Imperius Curse," Lucius spat, and unclamped his right hand from his left forearm. Harry started to nod and then stopped, keeping his gaze on Lucius; the black man was kind of scary looking. If he saw Lucius's flash-glance at the black man, Harry didn't think on it. Instead, he leaned his head onto Argyll's and kept on allowing the kitten to chew on his hair.

"What's that?"

The black man leaned forward and extended one massive paw across the table. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror."

Harry examined the hand critically; it looked big enough to squish his entire head with just one press. Slowly, he pushed his hand into it and then took it back before allowing Shacklebolt to shake it; he looked back at Lucius and raised both of his eyebrows. "He's the Imperius Curse?" he asked innocently, as if he really believed it, and the glitter in Lucius's grey eyes increased enough to make Harry shield Argyll's face with his hand. What if they exploded glittery eye goo all over the place? Harry really doubted that but, still…he had seen odder things happen, like a memory kept in a diary for fifty years or a sparkly sword come out of a hat. Or his own touch burn a man until he died.

Instead of smacking him, like Harry figured Lucius wanted to, the Lord Malfoy slowly responded, "No, he is an Auror for the Ministry of Magic. He simply came to check up on…you and see how you were fairing after running away from your relatives. The Imperius Curse is an Unforgivable—the use of it means a life sentence in Azkaban—that completely controls a person. The Dark Lord cast it upon me and I served him under it until you…" here, his lips pursed angrily, "_defeated_ him."

Harry remembered this time last year, when Lucius had been selling artifacts to the man in Borgin and Burkes, when Lucius had mocked Arthur and the Weasley's and ended up throwing a book—Tom Riddle's journal hidden artfully inside—at Ginny in contempt. Then he remembered Dumbledore, letting him and Ron stay at Hogwarts even though Snape was violently protesting and demanding for their expulsion, and decided that it didn't matter. "Oh," was all he said, and leaned slightly forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin in his cupped hands. Argyll stopped chewing on his hair and climbed on top of Harry's head, sitting comfortably and staring at Lucius, tail wrapped around the base of Harry's neck. "Can we get lunch?" Suddenly, Harry wondered where Hedwig was and remembered that he had released her right after escaping from the Dursley's; maybe she was with the Weasley's. Harry hoped so, and pushed the matter out of his mind as he cautiously turned his head to look at Lucius, making sure that Argyll didn't fall.

Lucius nodded and pushed to his feet. He reached down and plucked Argyll off Harry's head and dropped the kitten on top of the table; Harry glared at him and snatched Argyll up in his arms, saluting Shacklebolt and then acting like Lucius was dragging him out of the Leaky Caldron by his neck as he followed the man.

Kingsley wasn't quite sure of what to make of the Boy Who Lived as he turned in his chair to watch Harry stumble backwards after Lucius, one hand clutching the black kitten to his chest and the other scrabbling at his neck, and if there wasn't a smile creasing the boy's face, he would have actually thought that Lucius was hurting the Chosen One. Once the odd pair was out of sight, Kingsley looked back at the newspaper Harry had abandoned and pulled it closer, peering at the tiny, messy scrawl at the bottom of the front page: _Voldemort sucks!_

He could barely hold in his chuckle.

(O.o)

When Lucius cuffed him over the back of the head for acting like a pompous Gryffindor fool, Harry fell dramatically to the ground and dropped Argyll onto his shoulder before holding onto his neck with both hands and crying out, "Oh, you have released me! I'm free!" When Lucius's thin lips twisted into a mockery of a grimace, and Harry froze, wondering if the man was remembering when he freed Dobby, and then the broad shoulders relaxed minutely.

"Yes," Lucius drawled, and tapped Harry on both thin shoulders with the end of his cane. "You are released. Congratulations. It's been horrific."

Harry nodded energetically and lurched to his feet, clutching his hands against his chest and grinning widely at the Lord Malfoy, eyes bright behind his glasses. "Food?" he asked, and delicately wrapped his hands around Argyll's thin ribs, holding the cat out towards Lucius as if it was an explanation. Lucius whirled around on his heel and stepped up to the brick wall, sneering at a Muggle trashcan like it was the root of all his problems, and tapped the correct brick with the back of the snake-head. The bricks slid apart and Lucius and Harry—Argyll clawing up his chest and finally resting on his right shoulder—stepped through, into Diagon Alley.

There were quite a few people, but it was only as half-packed as it had been the few times Harry had been there before, and people stared and both him and Lucius, and whispered at why they were together, and when he had gotten a cat, and what kind of cat and how old it was, and if Harry was under a spell or a curse, or if Lucius really had been under the Imperius or if he had brainwashed Harry to turn Dark or if Harry was Lucius's son out of an illicit affair with Lily Potter…Harry giggled at that last one and matched his step to Lucius's, remembering the first time he had been here, with Hagrid. There were still the same shops, even seemingly the same people doing the same things.

Harry thought of something and looked up at Lucius; "You're not a school governor anymore, are you?" He didn't remember why, exactly, but just remembered Malfoy blabbering that Harry had gotten his father removed from the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

Lucius pursed his lips fiercely but nodded; the next time his cane hit the rubble street, it smacked with a particularly loud _click_ and Harry wondered if he should stay out of reach. "I am not," Lucius responded, voice tight, and did not look down at Harry, who peered up at the sky and then halted, the stream of witches and wizards parting seamlessly around him, although a few slowed down and peered at his scar and then scampered off, giggling behind their hands and gabbling loudly that they had seen _the Harry Potter_! Lucius slowly came to a stop and artfully turned around, taking the fewest steps forward and then halting right up against Harry. He lifted his snake-head cane and pressed the fangs to Harry's cheek.

Harry batted the snake-head away and rubbed absently at the two tiny divots in his cheek. "I'm sorry," he informed Malfoy, and then peered past him to read the signs. "Ice cream?"

Lucius's hand briefly touched the top of Harry's head and then nodded, whipping around on his heel—Harry wondered if he could do that and tried and nearly fell to the ground—and striding off towards Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Harry darted up to him and held out Argyll, who had been, once again, gnawing on Harry's hair. "Can Argyll get some?" he asked curiously, and when Lucius pressed his lips together, Harry grinned widely and dropped Argyll on the top of his head.

* * *

-Replacement


	8. Chapter Eight, Teach

Please note that Lucius is presented as the second character for a reason. Have no doubt, this is _Snarry_ and Harry will _not_ be placed with Lucius in any type of relationship that is even vaguely romantic or sexual. Also, I am taking this story very, very slowly. This is still their first full day in Diagon Alley and it's only the seventh of August. I have until the thirty-first, when the Weasley's and Hermione come into play. If there are any requests for me to hurry up the plot, they will be ignored.

_**He Onward Came  
**_**By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**

Chapter Eight:  
Teach

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
_Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771

(O.o)

Harry had been sent to get his ice cream and had, for some reason, entrusted Lucius with his precious kitten. Argyll sat uncomfortably on the middle of the table, wide dark copper eyes locked unblinkingly on Lucius's face, tail curled around his paws and the very end flicking almost absently. Lucius, also, in some tortured twist of good will, had paid for the brat's treat, as well as the kitten's. Perhaps it had been the wide-eyed, honest look the boy had given him while apologizing for Lucius being kicked off the Hogwarts Board of Governors, not that he hadn't particularly expected it when all he had done was to pressure the other eleven members to have Dumbledore removed as Headmaster. Perhaps it had been that the boy was simply Harry Potter and that he wasn't as bad as he had been described. Perhaps it was because that Harry had somehow forgiven Lucius even though he had practically been the one to nearly assist in Ginerva Weasley's almost death last year. Perhaps it was because the boy was just Harry.

Harry darted back with three ice cream cones, one of the treats covered in some sort of vile candy, and Lucius watched as Harry came closer, the more animated Argyll became, until the boy set the three treats on the table and the kitten vaulted himself in Harry's arms, purring loudly and butting his head against Harry's chest. Harry grinned widely at Lucius and pressed a kiss to Argyll's head before reaching out and pushing a small, plain ice cream treat at Lucius. Lucius looked between it and Harry and did not dare say a word. The grin on Harry's face did not falter as he happily explained, "Florean—he told me I could call him that—asked me who I was here with and when I told him you, he said that whenever you were here as a child and just with your mother, she would let you get ice cream because your father never allowed you to indulge in treats." Harry nodded and dropped Argyll back on the table, nudging the kitten towards the second plain ice cream; Harry grinned when the kitten began happily lapping at the vanilla ice cream and for some reason, Lucius was painfully reminded of Severus, of the man's few vices and how one of them had been Fortescue's vanilla ice cream, all those years ago when they had come here during the summers to keep Severus away from his Muggle father. "Then he said that you could have the ice cream for free and when I told him I had a kitten, he gave me _more_ ice cream for free!" Harry licked his spoon clean of fudge and Lucius took a small, hesitant bite of the perfectly made ice cream, tasting exactly like it had when he had still been a Hogwarts student. Harry grinned wildly and pushed his treat away even though he wasn't even half done with it, and leaned forward to watch Argyll happily devour the ice cream, his tail held up in a question mark. "I even tried to pay for my ice cream, but he wouldn't let me, so I just paid for the next person's."

"A Gryffindor to the core," Lucius replied immediately, and polished off the last of his ice cream with a tiny, could-be-contented sigh. He Banished the carton and watched the crowd, wondering if Narcissa was going to be bringing Draco for his Hogwarts shopping anytime soon.

Harry nodded and peered at Lucius over Argyll. "Oh, certainly. Actually, Lucius, I might be a Gryffindor beyond the core. It's possible that I'm so utterly Gryffindor that I'm actually made out of Gryffindor…stuff." He grinned and poked Argyll in the belly. The kitten turned and looked at him, small tongue rasping along whiskers, and Harry pulled Argyll into his lap, holding the kitten close to his chest. "What now?"

Lucius lifted his chin as his gaze narrowed in on the boy's clothes. He had a tab at Twilfitt and Tatting's that was automatically paid off every month… "Are you fond of the…clothes"—they were more commonly known as rags that Lucius wouldn't even allow on the grounds of Malfoy Manor—"that you are…wearing?" Also known as drowning in, but the boy didn't need to know that.

Harry looked disgustedly down at his clothes and immediately shook his head. "No, sir," he muttered. "These are Dudley's old cast offs…I don't have any clothes of my own. But I don't have any money, either," he admitted, and wouldn't meet Lucius's gaze.

Lucius counted ten Dark spells in his mind and then ordered Harry to his feet. With a wave of his wand, the table was cleared, and as he completed his cane, Lucius quietly told Harry that he was going to burn those atrocious admissions for clothes after he bought Harry an entire wardrobe. Instead of listening to the boy's exclamations that he was no charity case, Lucius pressed the fangs of the snake-head cane to the boy's lips and hissed, "I am only doing this because it is an insult to the Malfoy name to be seen in public with company dressed so poorly. It is _not_ charity."

However, instead of the dulling of the boy's eyes that he had slightly expected, Harry instead brightened, completely and totally, as if he knew something that Lucius did not. "I know," Harry replied, voice slightly muffled by the snake-head fangs pressed to his lower lip, and then grinned at Lucius.

_Merlin,_ Lucius thought, _I'm going soft. My own son couldn't make me kind but one day with Harry Potter and I'm spending money left and right…even allowing him to pay for someone else's treat with _my_ money! Merlin, Potter…you are a witch in wizard's clothing._

It was the scotch. Certainly there was no other explanation.

* * *

-Replacement


	9. Chapter Nine, Tenacious

_**He Onward Came  
****By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**_

Chapter Nine:  
Tenacious

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771_

(O.o)

Yes, the scotch, Lucius told himself as he held open the door to Twilfitt and Tatting's for Harry, who pranced in, Argyll talking against his chest as he stopped and stared. The store was not very large, but it was packed to the brim with the finest Wizarding clothes, the majority of which Lucius intended to buy for Harry. Certainly the scotch. Twilfitt—as Tatting had died years and years ago; Lucius remembered meeting him once, when he was a very young boy—scurried over and Lucius saw Harry pause for a second, as Twilfitt was a very, very small man with very, very large eyes and a very, very loud, squeaky voice. However, he supplied the best Wizarding clothes in London—Lucius's thoughts were cut off as Twilfitt began exclaiming over, not Harry, but Argyll, who leapt out of Harry's hands and darted off the moment he heard Twilfitt's voice.

Harry bit his bottom lip and shifted uncomfortably when Twilfitt's huge eyes focused in on him. "He's never done that before," he admitted, and wandered off, presumably in search of Argyll.

Twilfitt turned to Lucius and bowed slightly. "Your wife was in here just last week," Twilfitt informed Lucius, and led him towards the back of the store. "She had two new dress robes sized…are you here to pick them up?"

Lucius shook his head. "No. I am here to redress Mr. Potter."

From somewhere oddly far off: "_Harry_!"

As Twilfitt grinned, Lucius's lips pursed and he took his wand from his cane, flicked it and murmured, "_Accio_ Harry and Argyll." With a tiny yelp, Harry was thrown to his knees at Lucius's feet and Argyll landed smoothly on top of Harry's head.

Harry looked up at Lucius and smoothed down the front of his ragged and holey shirt. "My rate for cleaning shoes is _six-thousand_ Galleons a minute, Lucius," he mockingly informed the Lord Malfoy, and when Twilfitt held out a hand to help Harry up, Lucius watched in amusement as Harry looked up at Twilfitt and then back at his hand, as if almost curious if Twilfitt could help him to his feet. As Harry finally allowed Twilfitt to assist him to his feet, he twisted his head back around to look curiously up at Lucius, who was patiently waiting; after all, he had all day. "What was the spell you used? I've never heard of it."

Lucius slid his wand home in his cane and hefted the black oak slightly in his hand. "The Summoning Charm, Harry. I will teach it to you later, if you remember. Now, clothes."

Harry groaned good-naturedly, explained to Twilfitt that this was entirely unnecessary, that he was a charity case and if Lucius really wanted to buy someone clothes, then why not Argyll? He was a cat, and Harry knew some Muggle women who dressed their animals, like their tiny dogs, in little tiny dog clothes.

While Twilfitt took Harry's measurements and Banished the massive rags with a look of pure disgust, Lucius quietly informed the man of the colors that he would have Harry wear. After all, he was buying and it was the scotch that was making him do it, so why not go all out? Black, grey, Slytherin green to match the boy's eyes, a spot of red, absolutely no gold except for dark copper to match Argyll's eyes when Harry—who realized that if he wanted any say in what he was wearing, he'd have to demand it—insisted on it, a tiny bit of navy blue, and when Harry kept repeating Argyll, Lucius relented—not that anyone in the store would ever admit it, or ever say that it was Lucius who held Argyll in his arms the entire dressing time—and ordered seven Argyll sweaters in differing colors, all aimed to match Harry's eyes. Twilfitt had Harry try on underpants—which Lucius gladly left for—trousers, undershirts, regular shirts, vests, sweaters, under-robes, heavy winter robes, cloaks, light summer robes, indoor robes, school robes, socks, and nineteen pairs of shoes differing from black sneakers to heeled boots similar to the type elite purebloods wore.

The pile of clothes that Lucius bought for Harry was enough—in Harry's opinion—to fill his entire cupboard. He turned to the man and immediately hugged him, half-wondering if he was going to be hexed, and quietly informed the man that no one had ever bought clothes for him before. Although Lucius did not hug properly back, he did press one hand to Harry's back between his shoulder blades and something in his posture roughened when Harry kept thanking him; Harry knew that if he met Lucius's gaze, it would be glittering so harshly that he would have to take Argyll and burst out of the store just in case the man's eyes really exploded even though Harry kind of thought they wouldn't.

Just before they were about to leave the store, Harry couldn't stop staring at the huge pile of clothes and he looked up at Lucius—Twilfitt would have described his look as a sunflower turning to the brightest ray of sunlight in the sky, a child latching on to the first kindness shown to it in too long—and curiously asked just how they were going to get it all back to the Leaky Caldron. Lucius put Argyll on Harry's shoulder and then hit him across the back with the cane; however, as Harry noted, it wasn't a hit at all, it was more of the briefest touch of the length of wood to his body, and then Lucius pointed his wand at the pile of clothes and they disappeared.

Harry pretended to faint, coming around just seconds later. "Was that…was that _magic_?" he cried out, and thanking Twilfitt, Lucius herded the boy out of the store, almost unable to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

(O.o)

Harry sat with Argyll in his room at the Leaky Caldron, swinging his heels against the edge of his bed as he looked over the massive pile of clothes, parchment, inks, quills, books, things for his kitten—food, toys, a magical litter box—and a few unidentifiable items that looked like squids. Lucius had dragged Harry into nearly every shop in Diagon Alley, making the almost-third year be nearly sick, and had spent more on Harry in one day than Harry figured anyone else had ever spent on him. Now, he was deliberating between making the award for Lucius on siring such a great git or writing a thank-you letter to the man, all the while watching Argyll chase a little grey fake mouse all over the room.

Would Lucius think the thank-you was a joke? He was a nasty snake, so Harry figured that he would take Harry's thank-you as a gag meant to insult or mock his kindness, and then Harry knew that the man would take all of the things that he had gotten for Harry, and Harry would have nothing. Neither would Argyll, because Harry didn't even know how to get into his Gringotts vault, let alone know what to buy for a kitten. He had spent inordinate amounts of time with Mrs. Figg, who owned more cats than the number of times Harry breathed in one day, and since Harry had always thought that he didn't like cats, he hadn't paid much attention to them. Cats were just cats and they had always climbed up his legs and scratched his skin and Harry just didn't like that. But Argyll was different. Whenever _his_ kitten clawed up Harry's clothes, he never really dug his claws into Harry's skin, and when he did, Harry barely noticed it.

Harry rolled off the bed and onto his stomach, watching Argyll mess around with the fake mouse. As he kept his gaze on Argyll's front legs, a flash of almost black-dark-grey caught his eye, on the inside of Argyll's left forearm, and Harry snatched out his hand to clasp his fingers around Argyll's ribs, pulling the kitten into his arms. He rolled over onto his back, cupping one hand around Argyll's bum and resting his kitten's front paws on his chest; Harry lifted Argyll's front leg, ignoring the kitten's tiny flails, and narrowed his eyes at the almost black-dark-grey mark. It wasn't any design or didn't seem to be a re-growth of hair from a nasty scar; Harry figured it was just a natural digression of hair and decided not to think anymore on it.

It was weird, though.

(O.o)

A few hours later, Lucius settled himself at the same table he and Harry had occupied for their past few meals in the pub of the Leaky Caldron, and sat himself back in the corner, shadows cloaking his shoulders and dripping down his chest. Lucius placed his snake-headed cane on the table in front of him, and dropped his gaze to the stairs. He figured Harry would be down in just a few minutes—after all, it was past the usual dinner hour—and hopefully would be dressed half-way decently in the clothes that Lucius had bought for him.

Lucius also didn't like to think about why he had bought those clothes for Harry. He was well aware that he was rather selfish—all Malfoy's were—and falling into such a hole to being seen buying clothes for a _half-blood_; however, it was good publicity and perhaps his 'change in loyalty' would actually be believed if he was seen often with Harry Potter.

Lucius pursed his lips, briefly raised his eyes to the ceiling, and primly crossed his right leg over his left.

And while he was giving himself an even better name, perhaps he could sway Harry Potter.

Four minutes later, Harry stumbled down the stairs and swiveled his head around to lock his brilliant green eyes on Lucius. He grinned widely and strode over; Lucius froze at what the boy was wearing. Oh, the boy was wearing the clothes that Lucius had bought him, but none of the colors coordinated and he looked ridiculous.

Lucius pushed to his feet, wrapped long fingers around the base of his cane, and stepped forward to dig the head of the snake-head into Harry's thin chest. "What is that you are wearing, Harry?" he asked silkily, and Harry paused, Argyll peering around his wild hair with wide dark copper eyes.

"Err…" Harry looked down at his outfit—a Slytherin green emerald sweater over a red collared shirt, both hanging loosely out of his pressed black pants, and brown boots—and nervously smoothed down his chest. "This is what you got me…"

"Yes," Lucius deferred, and dropped his cane from Harry's chest. "But not like…_that_." He motioned to Harry's dress and his eyes lingered on the corner of paper poking out from Harry's pocket. "You do not match, and you look untidy. Follow me."

Harry nodded jerkily and shadowed behind Lucius as the man stalked upstairs to Harry's room; his hand brushed over the thank-you he had written that he had stuffed in his pocket, and Harry steeled himself to give it to Lucius once the man had fixed him. Harry grinned at Argyll as he stomped up the stairs, and ignored Lucius's glance back at him when he giggled under his breath. Just because he wasn't wearing the right clothes or wearing them the right way didn't mean that he couldn't still have fun or be himself, or even be thankful to Lucius that the man had gotten him the clothes.

Lucius opened the door to Harry's room and stepped to the side for Harry to walk in first. Harry figured it was some sort of paranoid weirdness and wondered if he was supposed to be all paranoid too; after all, wasn't he supposed to defeat the guy that Lucius had been loyal to? Voldemort; Harry smiled to himself as he dropped Argyll on the bed and grinned widely up at Lucius, who's eyes slowly began to glitter.

"So what's wrong with my clothes?" Harry asked quickly, picking at his green sweater.

Lucius lifted his chin slightly. "They do not match. Your appearance is ruffled and unkempt; it is unacceptable to be seen in public in such a manner." He pointed at Harry's waistline with the head of his cane, where Harry's shirt wasn't tucked in and the edges of his sweater were rumpled.

Harry pressed his lips together in an attempt to not giggle. Lucius seemed completely serious; weren't only _girls_ worried about their clothes? He was begging to say something about Lucius's hair—it was back in a _bow_; Harry had nearly fallen over when he realized that—and his 'fashion sense' but figured that would be rude and Lucius would probably smack him. Smack him right across the face with his cane.

Lucius's eyes began to glitter fiercely and Harry smoothed down the front of his sweater again. His fingertips feathered over the corner of the letter sticking out from his pocket and he pulled it out, setting it on the edge of the bed. Argyll snatched a paw out and dragged the letter under himself, firmly setting his belly on the thick parchment and not moving a single inch, keeping his dark copper gaze set resolutely on Harry. "So what do I do?" Harry queried, lifting his gaze to meet Lucius's grey eyes.

Lucius smirked, the glitter in his eyes intense, and lifted his chin slightly. "First of all…"

(O.o)

Harry spun around in front of the mirror for the last time, stumbled back, and fell back on the bed. The entire room twisted around him as his brain danced in his head, and Harry tried to smile weakly at the ceiling, but couldn't quite manage it. Lucius leaned over Harry, glanced down to what he was wearing—pressed black slacks, a bright green sweater with thin black pinstripes, a collared black shirt, heeled black boots—and pressed the snake-head of his cane to Harry's thin chest. "Better," he murmured, and long fingers motioned to Harry's outfit. "This is appropriate. The rest of your outfits have been coordinated and I have personally spelled them to not be worn unless they are matching or complimentary."

Harry grinned widely, sat up, and pushed Argyll off the letter. He gulped to himself and then held it out to Lucius, whose glittering grey eyes fell flat and narrowed dangerously. Lucius took the letter hesitantly, holding it between his fingertips, and after glancing at Harry's earnest face, he set it aside on the bed, giving Harry an unrecognizable look that made the Chosen One feel all gooey inside. Harry rolled away, intentionally falling off the bed, and snaked his hand over the edge of the bed and snatched Argyll, cupping the kitten to his chest. Harry poked his head over the side of the bed and grinned widely at Lucius. "Food?" he asked quickly, and pretended to not notice that the letter he had given Lucius was no longer on the bed and a thin corner of it was sticking out from inside Lucius's robes.

Lucius lifted his chin slightly and the glitter in his eyes returned.

* * *

If anyone feels sorry for Lucius…don't. He deserves it.  
I just have to say this: so far, my favorite part of this story is when Harry tries to imitate Lucius and nearly falls to the ground. I re-read that like sixteen times, giggling all the while. The characterization of that moment is beautiful.


	10. Chapter Ten, Torches

There is a direct quote from PoA in this chapter, and I do not own it. Although canon has Remus saying, I'm having Lucius say it. Because that's awesome.

_**He Onward Came  
****By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**_

Chapter Ten:  
Torches

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771_

(O.o)

Harry barely restrained from swinging his feet as he and Lucius waited for their food—he had gotten fish and chips and Lucius had gotten something fancy with duck and wine sauce—and stared at Lucius, who was sitting back in his chair and mildly watching the other patrons of the pub. "Why are you looking at them?" Harry asked, leaning forward on his elbows after propping them up on the edge of the table. "They're just people. Do you want them looking at you?"

Glittering grey eyes turned to Harry and Lucius's thin lips pressed together in a tiny smirk. "People are always looking at me, Harry," Lucius purred. "Just as they are always looking at you."

Harry's eyes bugged out. "You defeated Volde—" Lucius's eyes narrowed dangerously and Harry immediately backtracked—"you defeated the Dark Lord too? I'm not the only one who did?" Harry knew that Lucius hadn't done anything—he had always thought that Lucius was faithful to the Dark Lord—but he still wanted to the see the man's reaction. Watching Argyll trying to sneak up on his own tail wasn't as funny as it had been five minutes prior.

Lucius briefly lifted his eyes to the ceiling, counted ten Dark curses in his mind, and then looked back at Harry. "No, Harry. What I mean is that I am a very important political figure and eyes are constantly on me, just as they are on you. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. "But why do people always look at you?"

"I am important, and a very significant figure in the Ministry. I am an Advisor to the Minister." Lucius lifted his chin slightly; it was a very prestigious position, and Lucius knew that he would only be more prominent in society if he were the Minister himself.

"Oh." Harry snatched Lucius's cane, ignoring the man's automatic movement to take it back, and he reached it across the table to gently butt Argyll in the side with the end of it, one of the snake's fangs digging into his hand. "What's Azkaban?"

"The main Wizarding prison. It is guarded by Dementors."

"What's a Dementor?" Harry pulled Lucius's wand from his cane and placed it gently on the table, ignoring the way the man snatched it and held it carefully in his lap. "It sounds kinda gross. Like demented or something, like a little kid with boogers all over it's face. I don't like little kids. If I ever get married, I'm not going to have kids." Harry nodded certainly to himself as he leaned his torso across the table to reach forward and slide Lucius's cane under Argyll and hit the kitten's small black paws with it, making the cat jump up into the air and hiss angrily at the black oak. "Why can't men have kids, anyway? Girls are nasty, y'know. I don't think I like them."

Draco had gone through that stage, as well, Lucius reflected, but the boy had been around four at the time; the stage in which he never stopped asking questions. But Draco's extent of his conversation revolving around girls had been about 'cooties' and if he was the one who had to give birth, not that he didn't like them or that they were nasty. If the Chosen One was a homosexual…Lucius thought that he would never be able to stop laughing. "Dementors are one of the foulest creatures to inhabit the earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them…" Lucius turned his gaze to Harry to see the brilliant green eyes locked widely onto his own face, and he kept the gaze as he continued. "Get too near a Dementor, Harry, and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself…something soulless and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life." Lucius paused dramatically and then set back slightly when Tom came over with their food. He thanked the man quietly and inspected his food, smirking inwardly when Harry didn't even seen Argyll slink closer and sniff curiously at his fish and chips. Lucius began eating casually as he continued, "They cannot be destroyed, but their population number can be diminished if the conditions in which they multiply—the dankest, darkest places in which they grow like fungi, and create a dense, chilly fog in the process—are reduced. Aren't you going to eat your food?"

Harry gulped audibly and looked sickly down at his fish and chips, pushing Argyll's curious face away after a long moment. "Why are there creatures like that? What would have had happened to create such beas—"

"They guard Azkaban, Harry. There is no need for walls and water when the prisoners are trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most go mad within weeks. Azkaban is a large prison, housed in an Unplottable tower on an Unplottable isle, in the middle of the vast North Sea. No one has ever escaped, except for"—Lucius pointed with one long finger at the _Daily Prophet_ still resting on the far side of the table, and Sirius Black's portrait snarled fiercely at them and then gave a silent, maniacal laugh—"Black."

"How did he escape?" Harry squeaked.

Lucius shook his head and ate another perfectly cut piece of duck. "It is unknown," Lucius admitted. "No one has ever managed it before. He was incarcerated after the death of your…parents for the murders of Peter Pettigrew and a dozen Muggles for life. The _Minister_"—Lucius could not keep the distaste out of his voice—"asked me to keep an eye on you, as it is believed that he has come to kill you."

"But I didn't do anything!"

Lucius took the chance to retrieve the rest of his cane and completed it. He motioned elegantly to Harry's untouched plate and watched curiously as Argyll slowly moved closer to it, almost acting that if he moved slowly enough, then Harry wouldn't notice that some of his food was gone without him having eating it. "Yes," Lucius admitted. "You have done nothing wrong, but Black does not think so." Lucius touched two long fingers to the snake-head of his cane and mentally thought _Muffliato_; he sneered at two obviously eaves-dropping women when they rubbed at their ears and shook their heads. "Harry," he began, and the wide green eyes locked unerringly on his face; Lucius felt mildly sick but forced himself to say, "Black will not hurt you. I will not let him close enough to even look at you."

Harry's eyes, so wide and bright and brilliantly green, searched Lucius's own, and Lucius kept his gaze sincere; although he did not know it, his eyes were glittering, and that was what made Harry believe in him. Harry blinked quickly and nodded, dropping his gaze to his plate, and he frowned down at his two-and-half strips of fish. "Thank you, Lucius," he whispered, and then looked up to see Argyll happily snacking on a stolen bit of fish on the other side of the table, tail flicking gleefully. Harry sighed loudly and looked up at Lucius from beneath his eyelashes. "I don't suppose I could take it back from him, do you?"

Lucius allowed his lips to curve up in a tiny smile. "I believe that would be unwise, Harry. Now eat."


	11. Chapter Eleven, Trusts

_**He Onward Came  
****By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**_

Chapter Eleven:  
Trusts

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771_

(O.o)

Harry twirled around his room with Argyll in his arms around two hours after he had finally decided that he would allow himself to trust Lucius, if only to keep himself safe from Black. He had finally eaten all of his fish and chips without Argyll stealing anymore, and had gotten some of Lucius's wine-cooked fancy duck with fancy wine sauce, or something like that, and Harry had _really_ liked it. He had also learned that when Voldemort—although Lucius was trying to get him to call him the Dark Lord for some reason—had been destroyed, Black had lost everything. But Lucius had also reassured him—Harry had also wondered why Lucius had been so open with him while they had been sitting in the pub with all those people around him, but he had figured that the man had done something so all those people couldn't hear—that Black wouldn't be able to get to him while he—Lucius—was around, and once he was at Hogwarts, he would also be safe, because Black wouldn't dare break into Hogwarts.

He had also learned that Dementors were going to be guarding Hogwarts, but Lucius had promised to teach him a spell that would repel them, as well as the Summoning Charm.

Harry squirmed inside; he felt all _gooey_ and unfamiliar. His belly kept on swooping and whenever Lucius was around, something wrapped around Harry's heart and he wanted the man to hug him really tightly and never let him go. Harry found himself wanting to emulate the man—dress like he did, walk like he did, act like he did—but _then_ realized that if he did that, gave into that deep-seated urge, Lucius would probably make fun of him, because even if they were both famous, like Lucius had said, then that didn't mean that he could just go around acting like someone else that he had long thought he didn't even like.

Lucius had warned Harry that the two spells he was going to be teaching him—Patronus and the Summoning Charm—were rather advanced for a third-year and he most likely wouldn't even be able to manage the bottom of the spell. Harry had grinned widely and triumphantly informed Lucius that he was rather fond of surprising the hell out of people—even Snape, who, Harry had realized, was coming up more and more in his thoughts, for some reason, like the man was _significant_, ha!, or something—by doing things that no one expected or going far beyond what someone thought possible. Lucius's eyes had glittered so fiercely that Harry hadn't been able to look away; he had felt some sort of weird sucking and prodding, and then there had been _something_ in his mind, and he had seen memories that he wasn't even thinking of, and he had felt again his feelings and thought his thoughts again towards Lucius, like there had been something or someone in his mind that was _making_ him think things, but then it had disappeared and he had just been looking at Lucius again, Argyll sitting on his shoulder and chewing comfortably on his hair.

Harry shook his head in remembrance of that moment and dropped back onto the bed, one-handedly shucking off his sweater, shirt, shoes and pants and dropping them all off the side of the bed. He laid pleasantly on the bed, Argyll curled up against his left side, and Harry Potter slowly fell asleep. Just as he was about to descend, a familiar form's hands fluttered over his face and petted his hair, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Harry felt himself let out a contented sigh and relax completely as he fell.

Lucius stepped away from Harry, eyes wide at his own foolishness—he had just _kissed_ the boy, just like the boy was his _son_; he had never even done that with Draco!—but he could not force himself to rub the boy from his lips. He was only keeping the boy close for his own political gain; no one could see him in here and the boy was asleep? He had come in only because it was late for a thirteen-year-old and Lucius had wanted to make sure that Harry was in bed…

His hand went automatically to the painfully sweet thank-you letter in his inside robe pocket, and Lucius nearly threw himself out of Harry's room; he couldn't stand to be around the boy any longer.


	12. Chapter Twelve, Tortures

_**He Onward Came  
****By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom**_

Chapter Twelve:  
Tortures

_He onward came, far off his coming shone,  
__And twenty thousand (I their number heard)  
__Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:  
__Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime  
Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771_

(O.o)

Lucius was acting weird, Harry reflected as he scanned the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, Argyll sitting on top of his head. He couldn't think that he had done anything wrong; the fatherly kiss of the night before was only a shadowy memory and Harry remembered it only as a dream that he would never obtain. He had gone to bed in such a good mood, Harry reflected, and pushed away his breakfast plate in a sick frame of mind. He couldn't eat when Lucius was mad at him and when he didn't even know if Lucius had read his letter or not! He wanted to ask, but wasn't that rude? It probably was; Harry didn't know.

"What are we doing today?" Harry asked quietly, not looking up from the _Prophet_; he knew that Lucius's eyes wouldn't be glittering at him and that made his stomach heave dangerously.

He could _feel_ when the cold grey eyes landed on the top of his head. "_We_ are doing nothing. My _family_"—Harry's heart trembled and then dropped to the pit of his stomach—"is coming today and I wish to spend time with them." _And not you_, Lucius didn't say, but Harry could hear it loud and clear. He wanted to ask Lucius if he could go with—what if Black came for him while Lucius was gone and killed him and nobody knew until it was too late?—but held his tongue; he didn't have any right to keep a father away from his family, even if he was desperately looking for someone to be his father for him, but Lucius wasn't his father and Harry bet that he would never want to be, because Lucius already had a son and why would he want another one? "I will escort you to Fortescue's after you gather your homework supplies, and you will stay there all day. I will gather you when I am finished shopping with my family."

Harry nodded quickly, pulling Argyll into his arms, and dashed upstairs, grey eyes watching him go.

Lucius couldn't understand the boy. Perhaps he had not been asleep for that _stupid_ gesture last night and was disgusted or some other similar emotion. He knew he had to keep his distance and was attempting to do so, but it was vastly harder than he had expected. But Lucius knew that if he was to keep himself and his loyalties in line, then there would be no other choice.

For some reason, however, something sick twisted his gut when Harry descended the stairs without Argyll, and Lucius pushed immediately to his feet, forgetting himself as he strode quickly over to the stairs and frowned up at Harry. "You are leaving Argyll?"

Harry paused, and his eyes were too bright as he looked down at Lucius, books clutched in his arms. "If I'm going to be working on homework," he replied tonelessly, "then I don't need him distracting me."

Harry wouldn't say anything more and Lucius quickly led him to Fortescue's, giving Florean express orders that Harry was _not_ to leave the shop until he came back to pick him up, and Lucius would pay for all the ice cream Harry wanted at the end of the day. He couldn't stop himself from brushing a hand across Harry's shoulders and managed to convince himself that Harry almost leaned into his touch, but then he looked up and met Narcissa's familiar blue gaze, locked on his, and he murmured a goodbye to Harry and then went to his family, feeling as if he was leaving something important behind.

Draco was the first to speak up. "What are you doing with _Potter_, father?" he snapped out, and Lucius hefted his cane slightly as Narcissa stepped primly away from the 'common' ice cream shop and towards the more high-end shops, obviously headed in the direction of Twilfitt and Tatting.

Lucius pursed his lips and lifted his chin, cane clicking on the sidewalk. "You are smart, Draco. Tell me why a man of my position would be seen with a common half-blood like Harry Potter." He looked at Narcissa, at the elitist look on her face, as if she was better than everyone around her, and Lucius wondered half-heartedly what Harry would say about her.

Draco thought for few long moments before he responded, his grey eyes flicking up to his father's face, and then he exclaimed, "To look better in the public eye, father!"

Lucius smirked and held open the door to Twilfitt and Tatting's for his wife and son, Twilfitt running over and screeching that it was fabulous to see Lucius again and if Narcissa had come by to pick up her dress robes. "Good boy, Draco."

Draco preened.


End file.
